


Family Way

by darkrabbit



Series: The Messaline [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrabbit/pseuds/darkrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Clone and the Doctor are connected in strange ways...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -

The man named John Smith looked at Peter Tyler, then at his wife Jackie, his long, cool hands nervously smoothing the hem of his overcoat. “Jackie, Pete...there’s something I need to tell you. It’s important. It’s also not for Rose’s ears.”

Pete Tyler just blinked, frowning calmly at that last, but his wife stood up, rushed over to the Time Lord where he sat on the family couch and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Ohhhh...is it another one of those sick spells like what happened at Christmas?”

He shook his head then, and softly patted her cheek. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. But I will be acting strangely before too long, needing a bit more rest, a bit less activity, that sort of thing. It’ll all turn out. I just need to be more careful for a few months, until it’s over.” His slender hand brushed his middle in a gentle caress and his dark eyes flicked over Pete and Jackie, who were staring at each other and mumbling. 

“Do you think that’s what he’s on about?”

“I bet! He’s been looking a fair bit green these last few weeks!”

“Oh! It’s right knobby, but that’s almost got to be what it is.”

Pete had risen from his chair as well, and now the both of them were eyeing John as though the poor man were one of Jackie’s more adventurous menu items. 

“Well, Doctor, er...John, we have an idea, but perhaps you could...go first, maybe...elaborate?” Pete said, giving the Time Lord’s shoulder a few friendly go for it taps. 

“Well, the fact that the both of you are so intent on breathing my air is a bit disturbing, especially now. Could you two sit back down again? I rather fancy my personal space, if ya don’t mind.” John chuckled afterward, if a little nervously, so Pete and Jackie backed off and retreated to their respective chairs. 

Then he settled back into his own soft chair and smiled at them both. “Well, here goes. Right then...Jackie, Pete...” he caught their eyes with his, steeling himself. “Rose and I are going to have a child.” His sigh was weary but he allowed himself a small smile when they didn’t move to strike him. 

Jackie fainted and struck the floor like the proverbial sack of potatoes. John rose and tried to kneel beside her, but Pete poked him in the chest with a finger and then made his own short way to his wife, who was already rousing. “No, not you, tall man. You sit back down.” Pete never missed a lick. Smart one, him. He already knew what John was trying to say.

The half-human Time Lord was almost grateful for the kind reproach, partly because he didn’t want to bend down in his condition, and partly because Jackie was now gaping at him like a freshly-caught fish. Meanwhile, poor Pete was trying desperately to haul her to her feet and out of striking distance. 

“Oi! How’d it happen?” She cried, rounding on John despite Pete’s best efforts. “Were you shaggin’ each other in the laundry before dinner one evening, or was it an honest accident? Come on! Spill it then!”

He held his head as he answered, acutely aware of how exhausted he was going to be by the time he escaped the Tylers’ formal Inquisition, much as it seemed they were only trying to get him to tell them how he was getting on in their own, nut-loafish sort of way. “Actually, I don’t rightly know. I simply awoke one morning to find Rose gone from her room, and myself in a rather delicate way. Perhaps I was asleep and she kissed me. I can transfer DNA with a kiss, in a pinch. Yes, perhaps that is what it was, a quirk of my ability to transfer genetic material which reacted to our latent desires due to my being asleep. Frog Prince with vestigial reproductive organs, that’s me.”

After that, he held his breath and let himself focus on Jackie and Pete once more, stifling the urge to flee the room with a supreme effort of will. They weren’t saying anything, so he let out a tentative sigh and continued in the same vein as before. “Now that you understand, are you still cross with me? With us? Well, just me, really, coz Rose still doesn’t know. Wait. Did I already say that? Oh, Bollocks. Where is she by the way? I haven’t noticed her here much lately...must still be busy at Torchwood, cleaning up their mess.” His hand careened down from his face, splashing across his stomach. “This baby is going to need her.” His eyes fell on Jackie, and she held her tongue beneath his darkening gaze. “I’m sorry, Jacks, but...could you, ah...get me a cool cloth? I feel a bit of a fever coming on. My normal body temperature’s around sixty, but now that I’m with child, it’s going to spike. Rather inconvenient for everyone, ‘coz it means I’ll either be cross, laid up and/or tossing my chocolate digestives at a moment’s notice, but other than that it’s nothing much to worry about. So, in summary, basically I’ll have all the normal pregnancy symptoms, sans the swollen ankles and the baby weight. Follow? Now, I’m sorry for this, but...blimey I am completely famished! Are there any bananas? I’m so hungry I’ll even eat celery! What say? Eh? Eh? Oh this is beyond brilliant! Fantastic even! Oh my...” he patted his trim, firm abdominals, glancing down to stare at himself. “I can’t believe...welllll...yeah. I can. The odds were nearly nothing, so I never even dreamed...but, blimey. Jackie, Pete...” He looked up again, grinning like a loon at the both of them. “I’m having a baby! Rose’s baby!” 

“Nuncle have baby, like mum have Tony?” Tony said softly as he marched out from behind the couch. “Can I see? I be careful. I be good, see?” He raced to John’s side and climbed up in his lap, much to the Time Lord’s amusement. John ruffled the boy’s hair and wrapped his short little frame in a colossal hug, squeezing him just enough so that he squealed with pleasure. 

“John...” Pete said, catching the alien’s gaze square on. He wanted to ask, ‘Why keep it from Rose?’ but something about the way John was looking at him, or rather, away from him, keeping both eyes vaguely fixed in Pete’s direction, told him that the Time Lord wouldn’t answer. No sense in disturbing the man...

“That’s right, Tony! Very good! There is a baby growing inside me, just like when you grew inside your mum. And when it’s grown big enough, it’ll start to come out of me and be born, just like you did. Weeeellll, it won’t be quite like that, but close enough for government work. What do you say to a new little niece, eh?” John said, cupping the boy’s cheek with his long fingers. “I’ll still love you just as much as her, you know, so you mustn’t worry about a thing. Now then, all of you ought to let me alone so’s I can get some sleep. I’m going to need it, these next few weeks.” His eyebrows raising in pure delight, he smiled again at Tony, who got in a quick snuggle against the half-human Time Lord’s suit-obscured waist and then carefully slid down to the floor, making a beeline for Jackie. 

“God. Do you know when it happened? You’ve only been with us four months...” She asked, her own brows slamming together like two bits of lodestone, her wide eyes bright as high beams as she considered his slim shape. 

His blistering smile said all. “Well, not particularly, since Rose and I have, er...been together so often since that first day on the beach when we kissed...it could easily have been then. In fact, judging by how far I’m gone, it could very well have been. Anyway, as I recall my first child’s gestation and add a little bit of human to the mix, I have about two weeks to a month. It’s not exact with us, nature of the beast and what. But don’t worry, Jackie! I should be fine! If everything goes well there’ll be a quick flash of pain, a bit of dizziness, and then plop! Out she comes, bundle o’ joy, baby makes two and heat up the milk! Oh, gaaah! But seriously, can you three clear off for a bit? Daddy is long overdue for his afternoon nap.” His fingers ticked down over his abdomen again, sliding back and forth as he rubbed the still-taut muscles beneath his office shirt and cooed to the tiny life growing beneath them. “Oh, I am soo soo sorry to make you wait! Oh yes I am! Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes...”

Pete had gone off -probably at his wife’s behest- and come back with a tray of something; Jackie was in her chair with one hand on her cheek, evidently still trying to sort it all out. “Two weeks to a month, huh? That’s efficient,” she griped. “Wait. Should be? What if you’re not? What if it’s ectopic or something? We can’t do anything for you if you have complications...”

“Ectopic gestation isn’t a possibility, Jackie. Neither is a tube birth or any of the other nasty problems you poor creatures have, being as that I have nothing that even remotely resembles a human ovarian structure. But I am deeply gratified that you asked, and I thank you for your concern. Though, I am beginning to wonder whose side you’re on, as you seem intent on keeping me awake...” 

“Jacks! For god’s sake let the man rest!” Pete murmured to his wife, who looked like she was about to ply the pregnant, half-human Time Lord lounging on their couch with another barrage of questions. But she only took John’s slender hand and patted his fingers gently, like any good gram would. 

“Well, I guess it’s okay to leave you alone for a few hours, but promise me you’ll tell me if you need something else to eat, eh? It won’t do for either of you to go without good food, in your state, Time Lord or no. You hear me? But, you do know it’s all right if you can’t manage the sandwiches? If it looks like you won’t be tucking in right away, we’ll just put them back up till you’re about again.”

The Time Lord nodded solemnly, letting his eyes drink in her motherly gaze. “Now how could I possibly see fit to starve myself with you around, Jackie Tyler? Oi!” He blew her a kiss. “Oh, go on, you! We’ll be fine. Better than fine. We’ll be fantastic! But I really ought to take my hour now, so if you could beat a hasty exit with your young man and Pete, there...” 

So they all shuffled out as a group, leaving John alone on the couch, with the tray Pete had brought sitting on a small side table. He smiled. There was a dog-eared book of baby names, a glass of water and a white salad plate of thick little peanut butter and banana sandwiches all piled and covered in plastic wrap. Judging by the very slight mist of condensation on the inside of the plastic, the sandwiches must have been ready beforehand...Grinning at Jackie’s thoughtfulness, he slipped off his red converse and eased back into the cushions, settling himself before unwrapping the happy little tower of wholesome goodies on the plate and digging in. Yes, a bite to eat and a catnap would be good for the both of them. Before long the plate was empty, the glass too, both stacked neatly on the tray again with nary a drop or crumb to show for it. After an hour or so, Jackie came in to check up on him and found him stretched out on the couch with the name book over his nose. That she removed and set down carefully on the little side table, but after that she let him be, lingering only to set a nice cool washcloth on his forehead and pull his long coat up over his legs and torso while he slept.


	2. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just made up a name for Martha's boyfriend, because I couldn't remember it. boy was I off the mark that day. ;O

“Now then, in tribute to my dear, dear, dear, dear friend, Doctor Martha Jones, soon to be Doctor Martha Gettys, I am proud and deeply privileged to present a post-engagement toast in her honour on this fair occasion.” With a grin bright enough to split quarks, the Doctor, a dashing figure in crisp white Victorian tails, stood up and reached for his glass of extra-sweet cabernet to raise it into the air and complete his oration. 

His fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass and, holding it up at eye level, he tipped his head, his chest puffing with pride as he looked over at Martha, who returned his smile with one of her own. He raised the slim glass higher, watching the room through the swishing swirl of red liquid, and turned to gift her mother, Francine, with a short, graceful nod. Suddenly, he stopped with a wince mid-turn on his way back to Martha and just stood there, his dark eyes staring forward like two black coals as he looked within, considering the ramifications of the twinge he’d just felt prick his lower abdomen. 

Then he gingerly set the wineglass back down on the table, grabbed for the back of his chair, slid out and staggered off toward the nearest restroom, leaving a small trail of droplets in his wake. 

“Where...” Started Francine, who had risen to look where he’d gone. Then she saw it. “Oh god. Martha, is that his blood on the floor?”

“Stay there, Doctor! I’m coming!” Martha yelled, throwing hers back and running after him with her boyfriend Chris close on her heels, both following the weaving line of damp red drops to the men’s lavatory. 

They found him kneeling on the floor in a slick mess of smears near the first toilet. His clothes were ruined, the pristine whites streaked with more of the dark red liquid that must have been his blood. He was still bent over the bowl, retching up more red into the blue-tinged water. 

“Sympathetic...trans-dimensional...reverberation, Martha! Normally, just...an inconsequential...side...effect...but now, because...because of what happened on the Dalek ship with Donna and...and the subsequent creation of that Other Me, our centers of gravity...are reacting to the micro-variant shifts in space...and time...caused by the...residual presence-memory of the two of us being so very similar in our atomic structures...in other words,” He choked between coughs, turning away from his task just long enough to meet Martha’s worried eyes with his own surprisingly glassy ones. “...Our bodies...they’re slipping in and out of phase, and due...due to slight differences in the energy there, that tiny, fluctuating phase shift, it’s...become harmful to life in this universe able to sense it...and it’s hitting me now, kind of like an arterial tear with jet lag...Oh Rassilon, it hurts. Martha...w-when it’s over, I...” He sagged away from the white porcelain round and fell against her, looking white and barely conscious. Martha shivered as she checked his pulse, remembering the first time she’d seen him that pale. She’d nearly lost him then, to the Plasmavore in the hospital...and again on the Valiant, when the Master had halted his regenerative processes. She wasn’t about to let this third time be the charm.

“What...what can we possibly do for him, Martha?” Chris said softly, getting her some wet wipes to clean the Doctor’s mouth with. “You said it yourself. He’s an alien! He’s older and wiser than we are, with more years, more science, more knowledge and more brains in his little finger than, you said. So what do we do?” 

Martha looked at Chris and took his shoulders, her pretty brown features beaming with a shaky smile. “We don’t give up, that’s what! Now help me get him out into the hallway so I can watch his vitals!” She held the Time Lord’s head like he was a baby, cradling him as Chris hefted his spare frame off of the toilet basin and out into the hall. “Doctor!” She cried out, smacking the alien lightly on the cheeks, as he had passed out and was moaning something. 

Then he blinked up at her. “I’m losing consciousness, Martha...” he murmured with a tiny smile, sagging even as they laid him out on the white marble tiles of the hallway foyer. “Space-time...is folding in on a kernel of itself...inside me. Applying certain bits of my knowledge of phase-differentials, I willed it to take recognizable form, and now...Martha, it’s...growing! I can...feel it...but I’m...weakening...” his voice was barely a whisper, now, skewed with pain and unconscienable effort, and Martha felt herself waver for just an instant before he started to speak again. “But, don’t worry! I won’t...let this accident harm anyone else. I’ll...be sure to die first, eh?” The laugh was thick in his throat, harsh on his tongue like a burn.

“I wouldn’t like it, Doctor.” Francine Jones said softly as she neared them. In her hands, she held a small white bundle. It looked like the wrap she’d been wearing...As she reached them, she knelt beside the Doctor and placed the wrap under his head. “No one who saved us all as many times as you have deserves to die like this.”

The Time Lord managed a grin as he struggled upright to meet her eyes and nearly managed to stay there for a whole fifteen seconds before trying to speak again. “Francine! So you do care...blimey!” He blacked out abruptly, falling backward onto Martha. She let him rest there for a moment, then eased his head down onto the bunched-up wrap, her eyes staring straight ahead into the emptied reception hall as her fingers laced with Chris’s and her mother’s across the Time Lord’s lanky body. “Just you hold on, Mister...” Martha said softly as she pressed two fingers to his flesh, again alternating between wrist and jugular. “We’ll make it through this together, like we always did!”


	3. -

“Breathe for me, sweetheart, that’s it! That’s good, yeah! Come on, easy does it...” Jackie was on the floor, hand on John’s forehead, trying for all the world not to sound like a birth coach...all this while poor Pete was holding the bowl. Neither of them had liked the way he’d looked when he’d come down that morning, but this was, shall we say, overkill? The demented, helpful darlings. If John Smith had been a violent man, he would have wanted to strangle them. But dash it all, they were being right angels! Not good for his image, he decided, and bent down for round two at the chuck bowl.

 

Sucking air between his teeth, he groaned. “Rot. I am sorry for putting the two of you through this, I just don’t understand why it had to come on so strongly...it’s never done before.” 

Pete thumped him gently on the back, which brought up more bloody discharge. “Might be the half-human bit, mate. We’re pesky like that.” 

John smiled at him, still feeling dizzy after the last go. “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant before today. Hope my Other Self isn’t feeling this...could be dangerous, for him.” 

“What? Oh sweetheart, why didn’t you say?” Jackie insisted, stopping with a fresh, cold washcloth halfway to his chin. “And don’t you go apologizin’ ta me for bein’ in this state! Weren’t your fault, leastways!” Her fingers slowly crept up with the rag in tow. It was like watching a slow motion car chase. Or a comedy show, the way her mouth just, sort of, kept moving but never really said anything. 

No. Wait. It wasn’t that she wasn’t speaking; it was that he couldn’t hear her. Sounds were weaving in and out of focus, like a dirty spyglass in a storm... “Damn,” he managed faintly, shoving himself to his feet and nearly knocking over the bowl filled with red spew. “Microphasic temporo-spatial dysplasia! Bollocks! I must be the thickest fruitloaf on this bloody planet! Jackie! Pete! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but...consider this a complication.” He said triumphantly as he swayed. Then he toppled forward like a rotten redwood, straight into Pete’s waiting arms. 

“Ohhhh! He’s unconscious again... Oh love, what’re we gonna do fer him?” Jackie moaned as she dabbed at the sweat pouring off John’s face and neck. “We can’t take him to Hospital! Like Rose said before, they’d dissect him! His blood could...”

Pete had no time to respond, as the front door opened wide and a lone figure in a black Victorian gown edged in cream lace stood motionless in the doorway. It was Rose, their lovely Rose. She was so beautiful, Peter thought to himself. She must have gone and dressed up especially for John on her way back from the Zeppelin Port. How terrible to come home to something like that, expecting to find your Family, your Lover, waiting for you when you got there. 

Pete stood up and went to her, taking her shoulders and guiding her to where Jackie was rubbing John’s hands, hoping to rouse him for Rose. “Rose, no time to explain! John is pregnant, she’s yours, and it could come at any moment now. He said something about spatial distortions and phase imbalances affecting both him and his clone, all this centering on the baby because of what happened on the Dalek Ship. Does that mean anything to you, Rosie?” 

Rose Tyler blinked, then, she shrugged off her father’s loving arms and went to kneel beside her lover. “I’m back, love!” She whispered, taking his head into her lap. “And guess what? I bought this just for you, so...unless you want me to return it, you’d better open your eyes.” With meticulous care, she removed the silk gloves from her hands, then traced his forehead with a naked finger. “Our baby...never thought I’d say that. An’ it’s a girl! That’s, that’s great! Do you think she likes banana candy drops? Knew you would, so I brought some from France. See?” She brought out a small confection wrapped in yellow foil, unwrapped it slowly. “It’s made with banana mash and green tea. Good for the synapses, remember, on Christmas? Chock full o’antioxidants?” No response, save for a weak cough, barely a brush of his thin lips, and that followed only by a pensive little moan that only just registered to the ear. “All right then, so much for easy...” Rose quipped, her brown eyes draining tears across her cheeks. “Come on, open your mouth for me.” Then, Rose Tyler forced John’s mouth open with both hands and set one of the pale little sweet drops on his tongue. “Down the hatch!” She said, and planted a kiss on his bluish lips.


	4. -

“That’s it, Doctor! Come back to us, come on!” Martha urged, rubbing vigorously at the Time Lord’s long fingers. They were still too cold, even for him, and despite that he was still burning up, though at least he wasn’t half-comatose any longer. He had even started to focus his pupils. Slowly, so very slowly, his dark eyes began to burn more brightly as he came to something resembling full consciousness. But they were out of focus, or rather, not focused on any of the people who were standing around him. Rather, his glassy gaze seemed to lead in another direction completely...

Everything else faded away for him quite quickly then, until there was only the small white figure, off in the distance. Everything was white, it seemed. The strange locale could have been the Field Of Watching, save for one inconvenient little fact. That Field had been on Gallifrey, and Gallifrey was gone, burned forever from the memory of a good portion of the cosmos. “Leave off!” He rasped, feeling cheated by the presence of the figure, who had turned toward him now and was nearing the place where he lay. Dimly he could feel a jagged laughter rising in his throat, and so he loosed it, damning himself to another round of coughing. He didn’t care. He, the Doctor, didn’t care. It seemed a strange thing to say to oneself, in the illuminating, retrospective light of all that he’d done, and yet, with each footstep the Watcher took, it drew closer, and he felt his fear-sense grip him like a black hole, sucking out his guts. Quite literally, in his case. “Listen here, you! Don’t...don’t care if you are me, just go ‘way! Filthy door-to-door salesman, s’what you are! Well, I don’t want what you’re selling! So there! So...there. So...” Sitting up abruptly, he choked on the last word and had to close his eyes against the pain in his gut, as something warm and thick and solid came up into his throat and left his mouth, scraping itself on his very good teeth on the way out. Soft and wet and weakly throbbing, down it plopped into his hand like a gobbet of thick mucus. But it wasn’t mucus. A sickly sweet awareness of its nature burned through him like flames gorging on dry brush, but only when he opened his eyes again did he see why. Tears were running down his cheeks, more tears than he’d shed in centuries, perhaps more than he ever had in the entirety of his too-long lifespan, for he already knew what it was that now nestled limply in his bloodstained fingers. The newly-made universe...it had taken the form of an unborn child, and not completely by chance. He had spurred that choice along, in his desperation. It was his fault. And now she was dead. His choice had been wrong, and the Watcher had taken her.

“I’m a fool...” He said simply as he got to his feet, one hand digging painfully into his midsection. “And now another living thing is dead because of it.” He turned to Martha, then to Chris and Francine, and his face was strange to them, full of exhaustion-fed sickness, streaked by an anguish so very rooted and old that it froze them all in place. “Another week, and it, she, would have been viable. Can you see her, Martha?” His tone was dangerously even, his face drawn and grey as he looked again at his hand, at the clotted mass of dead cells that had once been an embryo. “I can’t have been paying much attention when she was conceived. I should have, should have been more aware, more careful, more...something. Guh!” He stumbled forward and fell against a wall, bending almost double only when the knife-ache in his side threatened to drive him to the floor. The red, half-dissolved shape was still in his palm...he blinked, leaning more heavily against the wall’s solid structure for a moment before he gathered himself up and turned his back to them. Then, murmuring a soft apology, he lifted the bloody knot of dead tissue to his lips, and after a fit of gagging, ate. The soft, spongy flesh slid down his throat without a sound. 

No one said a word when he straightened and met their gazes. “Before any of you demonize me, consider two of your Three Laws of Matter.” He said with a bitter little smile, swaying in place. “Two objects cannot occupy the same space, nor can an object be in two places at once. She was doomed from the beginning, already...already gone before she...” The Time Lord’s voice cracked like a schoolboy’s, but he didn’t look away. “Remember your training, Martha, and consider it triage.” His tone was a fraction softer now, if only because he felt the tiny weight of their terrified eyes. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see such a thing, but I would have gone into shock if I hadn’t. There was no other way to restore my depleted resources in time to prevent my death.” His fingers fell to the buttons on his coat and began to undo them, then moved to his vest, then the undershirt, until his chest was bared beneath the rows. Numbly, he tossed each article of clothing to the floor, including his shoes, until he’d stripped down to blood-streaked trousers and bare feet. His taut, slender abdominals were in full view of all-he made no effort to cover himself. “Off to take the air. Back in a bit!” Just before he reached the door he called to her over his shoulder, saying only, “Oh, and Martha, call Jack. Just...tell him to bring his team down so they can play hide the alien DNA...I can’t have just anyone marching out of here with a jar o’dirt...especially when it’s mine. The TARDIS will conceal anything damning till they arrive.” His raw, ragged laugh echoed through the empty greatroom and then he was gone, out the doors and away from it all. Later, when Jack came to find him, he was standing outside, still shirtless, the wind blowing ice at his back. 

“Doctor...we’re finished with the clean-up. Martha and everyone else are inside, helping my people. So, it’s just you, me and a night on the town, if you’re up to it,” the Time Agent said, laying a tentative hand on the Time Lord’s bare shoulder. The alien was damn beautiful nearly naked, sitting motionless on a park bench near a stone planter box full of bright yellow pansies. His skin was too cold, as though he hadn’t moved in hours. Jack’s breath caught in his throat as he came around to press fingers to points in a search for the reassuring double-time of twin heartbeats. As he’d hoped, the dual thump was there, scarcely evident as always, but there. He let out a sigh of relief. After all that horror, Earth’s self-styled Champion had fallen asleep just like that, an exhausted alien Popsicle next to a box of struggling pansies. Funny how those hadn’t been there on the way in... In any case, the paperwork would have to be deferred...lovely, he thought as he wrapped an arm around the alien’s waist and hauled his friend off toward the parking lot. Not exactly the way he’d imagined their first time alone, but that didn’t exactly matter, now. Nothing else did, except that the Doctor was alive. Now Jack just had to figure out how much liquor it would take to get him drunk...


	5. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( I don't own the rhyme- it's an old nursery song/riddle I always enjoyed.)

“Poor, exhausted thing. Look at him, weak as spades! Can’t be good for his baby, none of it.” Jackie said softly, settling a shawl around her Rose’s shoulders as they both watched John Smith’s chest rise and fall. She really had been beautiful in that dingy old Victorian, a woman, all grown up...but John had been too sick, too out of it to enjoy his present that day. It was such a shame. 

Rose sighed and snuggled into her mother’s side. “No way of telling, with him. At any rate, he hasn’t woken up once since I stuffed that candy down his throat, not even to toss it up again. So that’s got to be good.” 

“Yeah, hope so, love. He’s still got such a fever...don’t know what else to do for him but this.” Jackie rubbed Rose’s back and then joined her over by the bed. It was time for another cold rag on the forehead. Rose lifted the cloth from his sweat-drenched, pale skin and slowly dipped it in the basin of ice water they’d placed near his bedside. Then, she bent over him, slowly dabbing and rubbing and smoothing until she’d washed all the sweat from his brow. Just then his jaws slid open and a narrow trickle of bloody discharge dribbled over his chin. Rose mopped that up instantly, hoping for some sign that he was waking up. “Mum, did you see that?” She asked, turning her head to catch Jackie’s attention. But Jackie’s eyes were fixed on the bed. Rose stared at her, then slowly twisted herself to see what was going on. Turning pale, Jackie pointed down to where John’s hands had lain for the better part of a week. 

Rose sucked her breath. His long, graceful fingers were digging into the side of the bed. He was awake! She fumbled for his other hand in the bed sheets and took his shaking fingers in her considerably firmer grip. His hand tightened on hers, and his eyes opened a little, brightening everyone’s day considerably. “Hello, beautiful!” He managed, rasping. “Baby’s coming. I need...” John stopped and glared at Jackie, gritting his teeth in a moment of déjà vu. 

“What is it? Tell me, sweetheart! I’ll do anything!” She cried, stiffening under his black gaze. Then he laughed and had to hold his stomach. 

“Don’t speak, Jacks. No harm done, but... I don’t have the strength to play Twenty Questions, at the moment. Mind getting me a towel to wrap her in?” Then, with Rose’s help he eased his sore, clenching body out from under the coverlet and sat upright, dry-heaving as Jackie left the room to retrieve some of her softer towels from the linen closet. Afterward his eyes found the basin of ice water and he stuffed his face in it, gulping as much of the cold liquid as he could manage to get down his throat. “Rassilon! This body is so fucking hot! Oh, I’m sorry, that was...gluh!” He bent over, and a huge, membranous plug washed out of his throat and onto the floor. Another convulsion wracked him, and he slumped forward, his slender arms barely holding up his weight as Rose struggled to support him. His breaths came shorter, harder now, until suddenly he felt his child’s tiny form prepare to dislodge itself and bubble upward. The sensitive nerves of the prenatal stem, the temporary passage that held the baby to the wall of his womb, were already shredding themselves, and he felt a hundred agonies as each one severed itself, ripping free of him so she could leave his body and be born. Fighting hard against the sheer, solid waves of mind-numbing pain, he held his breath as the baby broke free of the last stem-nerve and tumbled up into the back of his throat. That last, that necessary cough, was murder on his back and belly, but to hold his daughter in his hands...to hear her little hearts beating away...ahhh...

“Nothing like it in the world...” John panted as he caught up her tiny form in the crook of his elbow and held her fast against his naked chest. Then he stood up, taking care to lean on Rose as he staggered to the balcony window in nothing but his blue-striped jimjam bottoms, all to press his head to the frosty-cold glass and dull his fever. 

“You should get some more sleep.” Rose said quietly, rubbing his knotted back muscles while he rested against the cold surface. “Look at all that blood you lost. If you get dizzy you might drop her on her ‘ead! Can’t want that. Just go sit in the chair or something till we can get the bed fresh for you. Please? For me?” She added, tugging a little on his arm. Despite the grin on his face he did as he was told and gingerly retreated to the rocking chair, swaying the while. “Have ya picked a name yet?” She asked as she helped him hand the silent, hand-sized doll of a newborn off to Jackie and her fluffy white towel. “She’s so tiny and adorable! And already dry. Like some sort of...baby kangaroo, only lemony-fresh! There’s not a drop of goo on her!” Both women looked at each other then turned to face him, holding themselves and trying desperately not to giggle.

John groaned, scowling rather effectively despite his weakened state. “All right, give her back, you’ve had your turn! You lot are just plain knobby, you are!” He snatched the baby away and nuzzled his cheek against her warm, soft body. “Hello again, Gallifreya my Precious! Did the mean ladies tease you? Well, you’ll just have to get used to it...because apparently, your dad has married into a family of nattered, knobby nut loaves...Rassilon...” 

Rose set a finger to her chin and stared at her mother, eyes shining with a wicked light. “Wait. Did he just say married?”

Jackie’s face scrunched up like a deflated water balloon. “Oh! I think he did. Look at that...” 

Yes, John thought to himself, cocking his head at her and twirling his finger in the air for the benefit of the baby, a very pink, very blonde water balloon with just a bit too much makeup. 

Jackie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Reminds ya of that Christmas, don’t it, Rose?” 

Rose just snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, pretty much. He hasn’t changed at all from then. He still gets his kicks from ignoring you, if that’s what you mean, anyway.” 

“Well, not exactly...I was expecting this present...and Oi, Rose! Don’t tell her!” the half-human Time Lord piped up, blowing on his daughter’s chest and laughing along with the two women. 

“I want...can I see her now, love? I haven’t gotten...” Rose said softly, reaching out her hands to cup the child’s tiny foot. 

“Maybe.” John said, sniffing and tilting his nose to the side as he handed her off to her mother. “And maybe I did say married. Yup! Committed, knotted, hitched, bridled, burdened, ball and chained! I said all that and more, Rose Tyler.” He added, holding her with those coal-brown eyes of his. “Now, I...ohh, that’s strange...definitely not ginger. Bollocks.” He clutched his head for a minute at least, because suddenly the room was spinning, turning white, and then he couldn’t see them anymore. But he could see a figure in white coming toward him, all broken into waves and slivers because he wasn’t technically supposed to be seeing anything of the kind. Perhaps his Other Self had had a run-in? Idly he waited as the splintered Watcher grew nearer, hoping for some sort of sign or proclamation, anything that would tell him what had happened. Then the Watcher began to shrink. It was nearly close enough to touch him, but instead, it melted together, becoming a small, white little girl in a white little dress, her white hair in curls to her shoulders and flowing with ribbons. 

“Daddy!” She chirped, a sunny smile starting on her face. Such a darling little face it was, too...smooth and perfect and lovely. Her lips parted, and soon she began to sing to him and skip about. The song, as it turned out, was an old Earth nursery rhyme, a riddle. 

“Thirty white horses   
Upon a red hill  
First they champ   
Now they stamp  
“And now they stand still

With a shiver, he held out his arms to her but she danced away, like a sort of manic butterfly in slow motion. 

“You should have gone with him.” He murmured, standing up and walking quickly after her. “You can’t stay between. There’s still a connection here between the two of us. The wound hasn’t had time to close completely! Hurry! Go to him!” 

But she just flitted out of his grasp, singing the same little rhyme, over and again while she spun in circles across the endless white landscape. Running now, John leaped with his arm outstretched toward her, leaped...and caught a ribbon from her hair as she bounded through a red puddle that he was sure hadn’t been there when first he’d looked. He slammed down hard into the liquid, wincing as he knew his Other Self had never done before, in this place of the mind. The wet stuff was hot and sticky on his skin. Blood. His own blood, or rather, His. Had he gotten blood on the ribbon? he wondered absently, holding up the strip of white to see. No, it was clean, pristine even. On a whim, he tied it over his eyes and began staggering after her, listening for her laughter in the bright darkness and following the sound. 

“Dad-dddyyy...” She called back, never stopping of course, but she did seem proud that he’d come to some sort of an understanding with her, at last. So she led him further into nothingness, and he followed, running through corridors of white streaked with blood drops. 

“You know, sweetheart, Daddy can’t run like this forever. He’s just had a baby! Tends to take it out of you, and what!” he called, throwing his voice against the never-ending landscape, trying to trip her up just enough to make her stop running for an instant. And that instant would be all that he needed, in here. 

Suddenly they were in a large hall full of fancily dressed people. Some sort of reception. As he fought to catch his breath, a sharp pain lanced through his belly and he nearly stumbled, catching himself on a white wall for balance. He looked up. She was waiting for him near a corner. He staggered after her, following still further until they both stood in a spotless lavatory with a single stall. The door was closed. He flung it open, and she ducked inside. The bowl was full of stars and darkness, and despite his frustration with her, he found himself staring through it at something else, something...beyond. It was his own face, staring into a wineglass filled with...cabernet, if he wasn’t mistaken. And he wasn’t. He could almost smell the fruit sugars mingling with the liquor.

‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” He whimpered, amazed at the blistering bit of oddness his day had become. “This. Is. Bloody. Barmy. Loving it, though.” John grinned at his daughter, who was watching him intently with that same bright smile. 

“Bloody. Yes Daddy, it is bloody. But it doesn’t have to be.” She said, touching his forehead. 

“But...I already birthed you! How...” 

She just held his lips and said, “Remember Castrovalva, Daddy? I am like the turning tapestry. A mirror within a mirror...so do I create myself. Like Mummy said, remember? Remember when she was gold? Now, hold tight, and I might just be waiting when you wake up. And try not to interrupt me while I’m forming this time.” Her fingers brushed his back, and he began to cough. Then, as he fitted his fingers to the round porcelain, she disappeared, and the world collapsed in a blinding pop of stars and blackness.


	6. -

The first thing Jack Harkness heard when he woke up was the sound of water running in the hotel bathroom. So he threw on a robe and tiptoed over to the door, hoping to catch another glimpse of the slim Time Lord’s semi-naked self while the alien did whatever needed doing in the loo. After reaching the sliver of light that was beaming from under the door, Jack slid the door open without a sound and almost tripped over something soft and firm. He stiffened, not wanting to look for fear of what he might find. And he was right. Because the 904 year old alien he’d gone on a three-day medically-prescribed bender with was lying in a semi-loose fetal position on the bathroom floor. A hard grimace turned Jack’s lips as he knelt down to check the Doctor’s vitals. It was a scary sight, seeing the man like that.

“H-h-hello J-J-Jack!” The Time Lord gasped faintly between shivers. “Did you...h-have a...g-g-g-good n-night’s r-r-rest?”

“Easy there, Doctor.” Jack said, reaching out to take one of those long, trembling hands. “Is this a hangover? Tell me what you need.” 

But the Doctor just smiled and clutched the side of the tub in an effort to keep from shaking and to push himself up. “N-not the alcohol, Jack. On a g-good day, I could drink any one of you un-under the t-t-table. Not the alcohol...something, something else. Something impossible!” The Time Agent linked his arms around the alien’s waist and made to lift him, but the Doctor would have none of it, smacking the man away in his excitement. “Do not move me until my condition is stable, though I could use some hot milk or something. I’m freezing! And I don’t often say that.” The grin he beamed could have lit the entire Torchwood building for several months, Jack was certain. 

“Condition? You don’t mean...”

The alien’s face brightened suddenly, like that of a very happy deer stuck in headlights. “Oh, yes! Captain Jack Harkness, we are having a baby. Apparently my clone made contact with the universe on his side and convinced it to come back through and plug the breech. Or it convinced him. Not sure how it went but that’s it, for now. At any rate, the bun for this side’s back in the oven where it belongs, and that’s fantastic!”

Jack was confused. He felt the Time Lord’s stomach, sucking in a breath when his searching fingers found a small, hard lump beneath the tight abdominals. “So...I take it this means the new universe isn’t expanding anymore? It’s contained in the gap?”

“Oh that tickles. Stop it. Stop it! But yes, Jack. Everything is as it should be. No more sub-molecular expansion equals no more extraneous pain or bleeding. Over with! Done! Finito! Now all that’s left for me is to take it slow till my time comes.” The alien paused a minute, looking down at his hands and feet. “Ah, finally! Shivers’r done with, for the moment. Now help me to the bed so I can lie back down, would you? I should keep horizontal for a while until my stomach settles.” So Jack hefted his weight and gingerly helped him stagger to the big bed, onto which he promptly sank like the rather bouncy invalid he may or may not have been.

When he was finally settled in under sheet and quilt and coverlet, his back propped with only one meager pillow, the Time Lord busied himself with watching the Time Agent pace around the room in his great worry. “Sit down, Jack! This baby won’t be born for another few hours, so stop worrying! But, ah, there is one small thing you can do...” He murmured, donning his best puppy dog pout and coupling it with a rather famous little boy sniff he’d always used on Rose. “Got milk?”

 

Jack groaned when he saw this display, because he knew his friend all too well. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant, Doctor,” He groaned with a harsh little laugh. “...because if you weren’t, I would have you over my knee this instant.” 

The alien just smiled and gave a hurt expression, holding his firm, flat belly for effect. “Oh really? What if I pulled rank? Or age, for that matter? I am in a most delicate way, young man, and do most honestly protest this vein of conversation. Why, I daresay it isn’t even proper to address one so fragile as myself in such a fashion! Huh! What would my doctor say to such poor treatment, I wonder?” 

 

Just then Martha’s voice slid through the door and into hearing range. “Well, she would say shut up and drink this milk, I expect.” 

The doctor’s grin returned as he watched Martha Jones enter the room, his thin face beaming with renewed energy and an almost tangible delight. “Martha!” Then he had to close his eyes and rest, because the edges of his vision had begun to blur.

“Doctor!” Jack and Martha said at once, rushing to his side. 

A moan issued from the bed, but soon a soft smile had mustered itself for the pair. “Uhh. Sorry,” the Time Lord murmured once he’d recovered himself enough to speak for any length of time again. “...got a bit dizzy. It takes an inordinate amount of energetic expenditure to sustain a growing universe inside one’s body. Thank you for coming, Martha.” He blinked, his eyes retaining more of their usual luster with each shallow breath. “See, I was taking the brunt of the drain, because my clone, being half-human, couldn’t possibly have balanced the fluctuating energies without dying. The universe, having been assisted into tangibility by myself, knew that intuitively, and so, made contact with my clone through a similar arrangement, i.e. his own resultant pregnancy, which of course happened before the original incident involving yours truly because of the temporo-differential discrepancies between our two respective universes. I dare say that, with the lag in timelines now decently accounted for between us, he should have given birth to a healthy daughter by now. In fact, he probably has. Which means I shan’t have long to wait until the momentous occasion, given that I’ve calculated all the variables properly and allowed for certain relational-reflective changes in all the micro-realities created by this little affair. In essence, when the dust cleared after their little meeting, time folded back on itself and pushed an alternate, later version of the foetus -a self-creating reflection which could safely contain the energetic spillover, if you will- into this universe, and lodged in my body, where it rightfully belonged, me being the only one of the two of us who could keep it stable whilst it formed.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Oh gobs but that was a mouthful for a tired man. And I would like my milk now, if you please, Doctor Jones.” The bemused and pallid alien flashed his friends another winning smile, if a bit more wan and strained than the first four-hundred odd. So Martha brought him his nice warm milk at last, which he promptly took and gulped like a five-year old with a freshly-baked cookie. He’d even held his hand out like one. 

“Hey! Be careful, you’ll choke!” Martha warned, tapping him lightly with a wooden tongue depressor. 

But the Time Lord just laughed merrily, shaking his head as he handed the glass back to her. “Impossible, Martha. Time Lords have a respiratory bypass system that prevents unseemly bits like that.” He was positively beaming, while her hand, she found to her utter delight, was fairly itching to smack him. 

‘You just watch that mouth of yours, mister, or I’ll stick this in it!” She quipped as she waggled the tongue depressor, unable to keep herself from grinning any longer. It was just impossible to stay mad at him. ‘Just...take your rest and stop piping up!”

The Doctor clicked his tongue at her in a mock warning, hand fixed on his belly, ever-mindful of the small life growing under his slender fingers. “All right, you two. No more of that, or I’ll be coughing up bits of baby again.” He snorted, one hand lifting lazily to his hair to smooth back the still-unruly mess, and then he lowered it back down, amusing himself with the Time Agent’s sad attempts to stop laughing. 

“You started it, old man.” Jack blurted out, which immediately began another round of wild guffawing. “Martha! Oh my god did you see that? He just...snorted milk...out of his nose! Oh goddddd! Ah-hahahahah!”

But a low, feral grunt from the bed made it all go away, and they both stared at the Doctor with worry sprung afresh on their faces. 

He swayed as he sat there, clutching his side, mouth open and panting as he was obviously out of breath. “I’ve a name for her and everything,” he whispered, his dark, boundless gaze glittering with the light of distant memories. “...it’ll be fantastic!” Then he hunched over, gagging violently as the child he’d carried for all of three days made her slow ascent into the world. A soft little plop came next, and the newborn fell gently into his slender hands, his sweet and goodly lass, all plump and perfect.

“Gallifreya. The Messaline. Right...then. Sally...it is...” Her name lolled off his tongue like a tumbled stone, and he seemed to deflate. But she was there, in his arms and alive, though he himself lay like a dead man across the sheets, her small white body cradled protectively in the crook of his arm. 

Martha and Jack eyed one another from opposite sides of the room, then quickly converged on the sleeping figure strewn over the bed. 

“How is he, Martha?” Jack whispered across the scruffy alien’s still form. Martha’s hands were at his neck and wrist, checking his cardiac rhythms for any abnormalities. 

“His pulse is a bit faster than I’d like, him being unconscious, but other than he seems okay. Knowing the Doctor, he’ll pop back in no time. Baby looks healthy, if a bit small, but that could be normal for his people, judging from what he said earlier. So, I’ll...continue to monitor, but for now let’s just let them stay like this. At least he’s getting some sleep today.” She caught Jack’s eye, sharing his proud uncle grin. “And he’s going to need it. Who knows what tomorrow will turn up?” 

Fin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in: Song of the Messaline.


End file.
